


sisyphus

by raenyx



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Animated Universe, DCU
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 04:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4692191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raenyx/pseuds/raenyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> “You don’t know what my nightmares are like.” </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	sisyphus

 

 

 **i.**  

Batman stands on the shadowed theater and watches them.

 

The little boy holds the hands of both of his parents and skips as he moves, swinging his arms. The night is cold, but the Wayne family seems to radiate happiness. Scraps of conversation, muffled by the hum of the city, float up to Batman’s perch.

 

He doesn’t listen. He knows every word. 

 

There is a silhouetted form in the dimly-lit alleyway behind the family. He doesn’t have a face - he rarely does - and Batman’s hand tightens on his batarang as the figure steps from the shadows. His other hand is at his belt, prepared for any contingency. 

 

He exhales. _I am ready._

 

His hand is drawn back and ready to throw when the first gunshot splits the night air. 

 

His hand freezes, and the world exists in slow motion. His perception narrows to nothing but the spray of blood splattering across the hard tile, the woman’s shrill, drawn-out scream, and the resounding thump, somehow louder than the gunshot that caused it, of Thomas Wayne’s body hitting the pavement.

 

A second gunshot. Another scream - high-pitched, terrified. The little boy stumbles back, his mother falling to the ground soundlessly. 

 

White pearls cause earthquakes as they spill across the cold concrete.

 

Batman lets the batarang drop. It clatters to the ground. 

 

_What the hell were you doing, you were too slow, unprepared - you idiot, you could have saved them -_

 

 

 

**ii.**

Lighthearted conversation swells again somewhere down the alley. A child laughs, a manmutters the same muffled words. White pearls sparkle at the woman’s neck.

 

Batman looks up, his breathing still heavy. There is another batarang in his hand. _This time I will save them._

 

The family walks forward. The child swings on his father’s arm. A figure steps out of the shadows. 

 

He lets the batarang fly. 

 

The gun fires - once, twice. 

 

_No!_

 

The little boy screams. 

 

Batman’s mind whirs. _You must have missed, or - or he was wearing some kind of armor, you were prepared this time, why couldn’t you -_

 

 

 

**iii.**

The family is almost upon him again. He reaches desperately into his utility belt to find something, anything that could save them - 

 

Two shots. The boy screams. The pearls fall.

 

Bruce staggers back, grabbing the stone wall of the theater for balance. _Why can’t you - why can’t I - please, I have to save them -_

 

 

 

**iv.**

The figure steps out of the shadows again and Bruce throws himself at him, fingers outstretched and desperately clawing at his face, his hair - 

 

Two shots.  

 

Bruce screams. 

 

The next time the figure appears, his utility belt is gone and Bruce jumps directly in front of his family.

 

 _please please i have to protect them i can’t_ - 

 

Two shots. 

 

His family comes down the street. The figure comes forward again. 

 

Bruce screams. 

 

Two shots.

 

The family walks forward. Bruce swings on his father’s arm. Red pearls cling to his mother’s neck.

 

A figure steps out of the shadows. 

 

Two shots, scream, pearls - 

 

Two shots.

 

_Two shots._

 

His fingers scrabble at his ears, desperate to block out the sounds. He is curled up on the ground and the gunshots echo in his head again and again and again and he cannot help cannot stop it _please i am not strong enough i can’t save you i can’t i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry -_

 

_“Bruce. Bruce!”_

 

Batman jolts awake.

 

He is lying in his bed at the watchtower. Clark is standing in his doorway, a concerned look on his face that immediately turns to one of mild embarrassment.

 

“I’m sorry to wake you, but you kept muttering something in your sleep. You looked like you were in pain.” He moves as if to step forward, then stops.

 

Batman sits up, swinging his legs out of bed and walking towards the closet. “What time is it?” 

 

Clark presses on, ignoring his question. “Something about being sorry? Bruce, are you OK?” 

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“You sounded like you were having a terrible nightmare.”

 

Batman pulls on a clean shirt, and the soft material clings to his sweat-soaked torso. He does not meet Clark’s gaze.

 

“I don’t dream,” he says.

 

 


End file.
